


keep this moment forever ours

by a_man_in_a_hurry



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe(s), Coffee Shops, F/M, Family Dynamics, First Dates, Fluff, Found Family, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Nonbinary Ethan Green, Sick Character, Touch-Starved, very very light tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_man_in_a_hurry/pseuds/a_man_in_a_hurry
Summary: john and howard meet, they fall in love, but encounter obstacles along the way. that's what beautiful about a relationship, is it not? each memory should be treasured and preserved.or where each chapter of john and howie's life together is documented through a polaroid photo
Relationships: Alice/Deb (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Carol Davidson/Mr. Davidson, Charlotte/Sam (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Gary Goldstein/Man in a Hurry, Howard Goodman/John McNamara, Lex Foster/Ethan Green
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40





	1. no surprises

**Author's Note:**

> i promise that the first chapter is not going to be the status-quo for chapter lengths, there was just a lot i needed to establish! if you want to send a request for an interaction with a character or something for howie and john to do together, don't hesitate to comment!

It started with a surprise; the first time in a while where John got to wake up peacefully after a mission. Usually, he would be interrupted in the middle of the night by some matter of little importance, or he would wake up in the half-groggy state that characterized most of his early mornings.

Instead, the blossoming spring light shone through his window, warming his bare chest and rousing him from his slumber. His small room seemed more open with the warm morning hues saturating the walls, bouncing from wall to wall, from the window frame to clock. The time read 7:00 am; but despite sleeping in by fifteen minutes, John McNamara would not be in a rush to get to work.

Softly slipping out from under his sheets, his morning routine began. There was no alarm and no surprise in the consistency of this routine. Meandering into the kitchen, he set the kettle to boil and set to making breakfast. It was a simple mixture of eggs and mushrooms, and as he let the mushrooms sizzle in the pan, he stretched out the tension from the prior night's sleep. By the time the spices had been sprinkled in, the morning’s energy had started to kick in.

By the time his breakfast had finished cooking, the table had been set, and John soon started to eat. He stared out of the window, and wondered what the day had in store for him. This was the routine. By letting his imagination go wild in the morning, he found it easier to concentrate throughout the high-stress nature of his job; the Head of P.E.I.P. Whatever other-worldly beings that lurked behind the current fabric of his vision, the monotony of his morning comforted him that nothing would catch him off guard and that he would keep whoever needed to be saved, safe. There would be no alarm and no surprise.

Next was getting dressed. John wasn’t a stickler for wearing clothes to bed; he found them constricting, and it was a little easier to change into something than from something. He let his mind wander again while slipping on his shirt, and brushing his hair.

Perhaps he’d come face to face with Wilbur again today. The last time he did, he was almost absorbed into The Black and White, and put the President of the United State’s life at stake. Maybe he would come face to face with the President again. That would be- awkward to say the least.

That wasn’t to say that if he did that it would be a negative experience. There was something about Howard that piqued John’s interest. Howard was a kind man. He was very intelligent, but he used his brain in such a modest way that people couldn’t comprehend it. He did as much good as he could with it, and even if he froze up due to stress, he wasn’t afraid to ask questions. It was a respectable trait to have.

Maybe there was something more there, but John didn’t like to think about those kinds of possibilities. He found Howard aesthetically pleasing the very first time he saw him, but it grew into something more, and although he would love to spend time with him on a more personal level, John was not one to mix personal and work life, especially since P.E.I.P. was working closely with Howard since last year’s Black Friday.

He started to tune these thoughts out as he adjusted his beret. If he wanted to think about it again, he’d have to wait until after work. P.E.I.P. came first. On his way out of the door, he glanced at his watch. 8:00am, he would be on time for work. In the adjustment of his time device, he let his mind briefly wonder; maybe it would be nice to see Howard again. Only time would tell.

\--

Howard Goodman was stressed. Ever since last year’s Black Friday, his office had been barraged with angry press and threats of World War Three. His time in the presidency was quickly turning from his motto of being “status-quo” to what might be considered one of the greatest struggles of 21st-century politics. He just really, really hoped that he could get through the next two years in one piece.

Ever since P.E.I.P. had appeared in his life, nothing had stayed the same. Every action could cause civil-unrest, or open an intergalactic portal in downtown Washington. Every move was a surprise.

The biggest surprise of all of them? John McNamara.

Howard likes John, he won’t lie. Aesthetically, John was incredibly appealing. From his chiseled jawline to his unbearably soft hair, there was not a fault Howard could find. However, his personality was what sold the deal. Refreshingly honest, with an obscure sense of humor to boot, there wasn’t anything that Howard did not find attractive.

The problem was that Howard was the goddamn President of the United States of America. As much as he wanted to get closer with John, it would absolutely interfere with their professional relationship.

Howard sighs, fumbling with his pen. It’s only 11:00am, and nothing has happened. The last week was jam-packed with meetings and document signings and press-conferences. He sunk a little further into his chair, glancing through his window, wondering why it was taking so long for something to happen. Maybe he could just take a day off, if something major hasn't happened in the first three hours of the morning, it was likely that nothing his staff couldn’t deal with would happen.

He’d feel bad leaving though, that was the problem. Even if he wasn’t doing anything, he was stressed out of his mind and the guilt of not doing anything was overwhelming.

That was when he saw a familiar silhouette slip into the room.

“Sorry for the intrusion, Mr President. I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”

Howard jumped. “Oh! John! What are you doing here?”

John watches him, a slight tug at his lips. “P.E.I.P. has asked me to escort you in your actions today.”

Of course, this wasn’t the first time John had sent himself to be a bodyguard for Howard. Interdimensional Politics had quite quickly become a strong-suit of his, and at any moment some alternate-version of himself or any number of entities could pay him a visit. It was fair to assume that John had heard through the grapevine of some future event. Why he seemingly insisted to always escort him, however, was a mystery.

“That’s uhh, a surprise to be certain. It’s been one of the quietest days in the office for quite some time. Is there something I’m missing, General?”

“Not at this stage, Mr. President,” John’s tone differed slightly, and Howard thought he could sense a teasing nature in it, “but, the quietest days produce the loudest sounds.”

Although Howard wasn’t exactly sure what this meant, he chuckled anyway. John had a strange way of saying things.

“I’m- not sure what to do in the meantime then, you have any ideas?”

“I am only your escort, Mr. President. Whatever your routine is, perhaps?”

Howard winced a little at that comment. He didn’t really have a routine, instead just moving to where he was needed, and for what was needed to make him a good President and make his country proud and happy. The thought of having a routine inferred that he was putting himself before his country, which was not something Howard wanted to even consider.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have lunch soon.”

“Would you like me to prepare you something?”

“That’s fine, we can make something together, since I’m sure you haven’t got a sandwich packed in that vest of yours.”

“Indeed I do not. However, I do in fact have a protein bar, and various small sugary objects in the case of missions involving children.”

“So your idea of lunch is a piece of candy and a protein bar?”

“Not ideally, but for the premise of my stay here, yes.”

“You’re coming with me, and we’re making a proper lunch.”

Howard wasn’t even one to eat lunch, but the very idea of John not eating a proper meal sparked something inside him. If he was going to take care of himself, he’d be damned if John didn’t also.

“Mr. President, I assure you I will be fi-”

“Call me Howard.”

\--

In the process of descending down the staircase to the kitchen, which was in the basement of the White House, John’s mind began to wander again.

In previous occasions, this would only happen near the end of overtime shifts or missions that took multiple days. It wasn’t even twelve yet, and his mind soon went from wandering to racing, and maybe it was the deviation from the usual routine of protecting Howard, but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. Sure, they were just making lunch together in the White House kitchen, it wasn’t anything super romantic, but the thought of just spending time with Howard in a context that was not strictly work was distracting.

He kept reminding himself that becoming involved with Howard would just make both men’s lives harder, and that if he actually did care about Howard he wouldn’t say anything. He was the President of the United States, for all John knew he had a wife hidden from the public’s eye. Howard didn’t wear a ring though, but perhaps it had dropped or fallen-

“Whoa, John you okay?”

Suddenly, John slammed back into reality, and almost into Howard.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, “I am fine, Mr. President.”

“You sure? You look like you have something on your mind.”

Not something, but someone.

“Nothing more than the usual.”

“Kay, but don’t go falling for-” Howard froze up, seemingly surprised at himself, “-into me again.”

John let out a soft laugh. The butterflies in his stomach were starting to have fun, and although they walked the rest of the way to the kitchen, Howard occasionally glancing over to John as if to make sure he was okay, they did not calm. Instead, the wingbeats got stronger and stronger.

“Alright, we’re here.” Howard opened the door, and walked confidently into the White-House kitchen.

The first thing John noticed about it was that it was big. He supposed it was approximately 22 by 27 feet in diameter, and the ceilings were high. The stainless steel tables were long and spotless, while the overhead lights were sharp and nearly blinding. He had no doubt that a lot of food could be cooked in this room.

“Pretty cool right?” Howard smiled awkwardly, fiddling with his tie, “we’re supposed to have five full-time chefs work here- but because I don’t have any family with me, I give them full pay and just call them in every once in awhile, either for a dinner or to make some- shit to freeze.”

“So you don’t cook in here much?”

The inference wasn’t to make it seem that Howard couldn’t cook, but he seemed to choke on air for a second.

“Well, I uhh-”, he stammered, clearly embarrassed, “I can’t really cook.”

“Maybe dragging me down here was a good idea then, Mr. President.”

Howard chuckled a little. “Yeah, perhaps it was!”

John re-focused his attention to the cabinets in the kitchen. There were culinary devices for every potential breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack he could think of. The options for his and Howard’s lunch were endless.

“So, Mr. General, what are we cooking today?”

“Pasta and Sandwiches?”

“Sounds good, then we can go and sit outside, because it’s such a nice day,” Howard trailed off, seemingly caught in his imagination.

“I am sure we could both use some Vitamin D, Mr. President.”

“So, how do we uhh- start cooking?”

John glanced around the room quickly, trying to locate the best implements for this task. Quickly, he located the pantry and scoured through the shelves, quickly locating some dry spaghetti and ingredients for a pesto.

“Would you be interested in a pesto, Mr. President?”

“I know I said I couldn’t cook, but that doesn’t mean you have to rub it in-” Howard’s face stretched into an awkward smile. “Still, yeah, that’d be nice.”

John subtly grinned back, and it took most of his reserve to not full-tooth smile at Howard. John was a stoic man, and although he wore his heart on his sleeve, he hid it under a jacket. He let his thoughts brew under the surface and chose only to show what he was thinking with those he trusted. Or loved. John wasn’t sure if it was his brain wandering again, but he wasn’t sure which one he found Howard to fit into more.

John was brought out of his trance once again by Howard fumbling with something in his pocket.

“I’m sorry Joh- General. I needa take this.”

“Do not worry, I will make the sandwiches and pasta as requested.”

“You’re not a robot, it’s a lunch we’re going to share, okay?” Howard patted John’s shoulder, seemingly not noticing his flinch before quickly striding out of the room.

John’s hand moved to cover the place where Howard touched him subconsciously, and once Howard had left, he let out a sigh. No one had touched him, let alone someone he liked in a long while. Thankfully, however, it seemed that Howard hadn’t noticed his body's intense reaction to the contact, otherwise, he might have been in a difficult position.

\--

“President Howard Goodman,” Howard picked up the phone, pacing down the hallway in front of the kitchen, “to who am I speaking?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. President. It’s me Xander Lee? We met during the Black Friday incident last year.”

“Of course I remember you, Mr. Lee. What can I do for you today?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the head of P.E.I.P was sent to safeguard you today.”

Howard smiled, “yeah, John’s actually in the kitchen as we speak.”

“Good, then you know where he is. We have reason to believe that both yours and General McNamara’s lives are in danger. Do you recall a certain Uncle Wiley?”

“The creep in that musical jingle that tried killing me? How could I forget?”

“Certainly a valid point,” Xander seemed to pause for a moment, his tone suddenly becoming hesitant, “Are you aware of Colonel Wilbur Cross’s relationship with General McNamara?”

“What, his mentor that went psycho after entering the Black and White?”

“Look, I’ll get straight to the point. We have reason to believe that they are both one and the same. He may try to use his past with John to cause direct harm to both of you, or some part of Washington tonight. If something happens, tell me. John mustn’t know that there is a chance that Wilbur is still alive, because he will go after him.”

“Alright. I gotcha. I gotcha. I gotcha.” Howard trailed off.

“Look, have a nice day, okay? There’s a high probability that he has no clue of the relationship between you two, if he is alive. Exposure to the Black and White, and Wiggly’s powers would blur the lines between logic and instinct in the most highly trained mind. Just be careful.”

Xander then quickly hung up, and left Howard to his spiraling mind. What did he mean by the relationship between him and John? Had John mentioned something to Xander about him? Was Howard’s feelings actually secretly reciprocated?

Howard could hear the distant sound of cabinet doors flying open, pots, and pans hitting the marble countertops. He figured it was just John trying to figure out the “optimal place” to cook the pasta. Pasta was a romantic dish though, and John was the one to suggest it. It would make sense if John liked him ba- No, that was insane. Howard was the goddamn President of the United States of America, and although he didn’t have a first lady/man, he wasn’t desperate enough to get involved with a secret government official. Was he?

When a delicious smell pulled him out of his thoughts, Howard decided to return and investigate. He quickly made his way down the hallway to the kitchen, the delicious smell only intensifying the closer he got. Peeking around the kitchen corner, his gaze landed on John’s soft ginger locks, his rolled-up sleeves, and tanned arms. He had ditched his vest, revealing a shirt that clung to his muscular figure.

Howard stood there for a minute, watching John move around the space in awe. He looked at ease, humming to himself.

“Blender… where is the blender?” Howard heard John ask himself, shuffling through the various cabinet doors.

“It’s in the pantry, on the right-hand side.” Howard answered, re-making his presence known.

John turned around quickly, the front of his shirt dusted in flour. His eyes widened a little and a pink dust covered his cheeks.

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“John, you can call me Howard.”

Howard could see a smile tug at John’s lips, despite the fact that he was probably trying to stay professional and stoic, as he often was. He looked around the countertops, and everything looked fine. It was even clean, so the slight nervous energy coming from John seemed very misplaced.

“Do you mind stirring the pasta?” John grabbed a slotted ladle and offered it to Howard.

Taking the offered utensil, he peeked inside the boiling water, the steam pleasantly warm on his face. Truthfully, maybe because of Howard’s own experience, he was surprised to find them not burned and sticking to the bottom of the pot. The low hum of the oven’s fan reached his ears. The slow sizzle of something baking inside, mixing with the fresh smells of chopped basil. John reached over to adjust the gas flames, the knobs popping on every turn.

“That will save them from catching on fire.” John winked. The water had started to boil, and suddenly the hot whistle of steam trying to escape screeched in Howard’s ears.

Howard couldn’t tear his eyes away from John, but he still managed to stir the pasta, not being able to think of a smart comeback to John’s joke.

His eyes followed John around the room as he went to pick up a bowl of sun-kissed tomatoes. The knife hit against the wooden chopping board, gliding expertly against the meaty tomatoes. When he was done John returned them inside the bowl and placed it aside. He grabbed an egg from inside the refrigerator and broke it inside a small metal cup. Soon the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the space, egg swishing inside the bowl against the fork. John went to the oven and pulled out rosy-puff pastries, quickly coating them with the eggs and then returning them inside the hot oven to finish baking.

“Blender in the pantry, as you said?” John asked as he stepped toward the small space at the side of the kitchen. A few seconds later he emerged out and placed it on the counter.

“Home-made pesto is healthier than store-bought, and it usually tastes better.” he stated matter-of-factly; as if he just shared a secret of life.

John then proceeded to fill up the plastic cup with the fresh basil leaves, walnuts, and a generous dose of olive oil. The loud buzz of the machine made Howard jump a little, a sharp intake of air following.

“Are you okay, Howard?”

Howard hadn’t realized that he was staring so openly, completely in awe of seeing John like this, especially with how quickly everything seemed to be coming together from his phone call. Had he been on it that long?

“I uhh- think the pasta’s ready?”

“Indeed it seems that way.” John moved over to the pot and prepared to drain it of water.

“What were those pastry things?”

“I thought you might want something sweet, so I made some danishes. There was some pastry in the fridge I found.”

“You know me too well John,” Howard smiled, “I love danishes.”

John raised his eyebrow, seemingly amused, then finished draining the pasta. He then dumped the pesto into the pasta and mixed them thoroughly.

“Where would you like us to eat?”

“Well the Peonies are still in bloom in the gardens, how about there?”

“Sounds good.”

\--

The first thing that John noticed about the garden was that it was beautiful. Not at all was it the run-of-the-mill backyard garden with simple arrangements of flowers, but instead it featured intricate arrangements of pinks, oranges, and greens, tenderly organized to an intricate detail. The aesthetic nature of the garden was soulful and awe-inspiring.

“Do you like it?” Howard chirped behind him, “I love getting to sit out here when I don’t have president shit to do.”

“It is beautiful,” John replied, turning to face Howard.

He had changed into more casual attire, a simple button-up shirt with rolled sleeves, and carried a picnic basket with him. Howard had insisted that if they were to sit outside, they do it properly with all the bells and whistles. Naturally, this meant that they were to bring wine-glasses and cider to share with their food, on a picnic rug, under one of the largest trees in the white-house gardens. Although usually John would be deterred from such a fancy set-up, the nature of sharing this meal with Howard instead brought him comfort.

Howard quickly decided on the best place in the shade, under the large oak tree surrounded with the softest grass he could find. John wasn’t sure why there was a need for soft grass when they had the picnic blanket currently rolled up under his arm, but he went along with it anyway. Setting down the bottle of cider on top of the basket that Howard carried, and spread out the red and black checkered blanket. Placing the basket and cider down on the blanket, Howard smiled at John again, in that delighted way that screamed that he was successful in some plan or another.

“This feels normal.”

“What do you mean?”

Howard's smile grew larger, “I don’t know, it just feels like I can forget about being president for a while... If you get what I’m saying?”

“I know the sentiment indeed.”

John was charmed by it too, the normalcy was appealing. It was surprisingly something that he craved, just a taste of what ‘normal’ people would do, in the madness that was being the head of P.E.I.P. He let himself flash Howard a small smile, finding his delight intoxicating.

“Food?”

“Food.”

John had put the pasta in what he could only assume was a fancy Tupperware container, and in the process of taking it out of the basket, he fished out two bowls. Then the sandwiches. Then the danishes. He must admit, he did find it rather appetizing. He hoped that Howard did too, John wasn’t sure that the pasta really worked in the setting. Despite the fact he had never been on a picnic, he knew it was hard to plan for one because they usually didn’t require cutlery.

After pulling those out, he took out the knives and the wine-glasses. He gave one of each to Howard and kept one for himself. For a few moments, they busied themselves with the spread in front of them, munching on the food and sipping the cider. They soaked in the sunshine, savoring the moment as much as possible.

“Holy shit John.”

“Pardon?”

“This shit is delicious. I didn’t know you could cook this well! You could be like a chef or something?”

“That is indeed a career path that people that cook take. I will admit I’ve always been interested in it as a hobby,” John looked away for a second, wistfully, “but as the middle sibling, I was usually the one that missed out on the opportunities to explore different areas other than the one I wanted to make my career.”

“You’re the middle child?” Howard asked intently.

“Indeed I am Mr. President. My older brother, Ken, took his wife’s name in marriage and is the branch head of a Financial Consulting firm. He was the one who would always go on Math Camp and the like.”

“Huh, wow. You don’t hear about many guys who take their wife's names, do you?”

“Well he loves her more than anything, they were high school sweethearts.”

Howard chuckled, “god, hardly any of those couples work out right?”

“It seems they beat the odds.”

“How about your younger sibling?”

John paused for a moment.

“Sam was a bit of a different story. He was the rebel of our family,” John grimaced a little, “he wanted to continue the family legacy of being a small-town cop, which was surprising considering his reputation for, well, beating people up.”

“Jesus.”

“He was born five years after me you see, so he didn’t really have much familial support other than my father. I think he did it for the attention really, he is a good man deep down. His wife on the other hand,- is a different story.”

“Oh really?”

John nodded, “Yes, but I think that is a story for another time, Mr. President.”

“Damn, it looks like I finally managed to get you to open up and you stop on such a cliff-hanger? You’re a tease, John.”

John raised his eyebrow in reply.

“Well, my family was a little different from yours. I have five sisters, and because of the way, my mum and dad raised us all I was never really around to interact with them. My older sister was 25 years older than me.”

“Huh. That is most certainly an age-range.”

“It really is. I wasn’t really close with her at all, until just before she died. Her son, Paul, is five years younger than me, so really she felt more like an Aunt, and Paul like a distant brother? The rest of my family doesn’t really talk to me much though, they’re all Republicans.”

“Ah, a political division, then, ey Mr. President?”

“Yeah, it really was.”

A lull came over the both of them as they continued to eat, occasionally commenting on some matter or the other of no real importance. Everything from their favorite sports to colors, from art to science. The conversation was quick and flowed evenly. Once their eating began to slow down, John took the time to tidy things up, and Howard helped John place the bowls and leftover sandwiches back into the basket. Sipping on their cider, they made eye-contact once more.

“John I-” Howard fiddled with his collar a little, “do you know why you were sent to protect me today?”

“Well technically, I sent myself,” John corrected, “I do not want to alarm you, however, Mr. President, but I am aware that you know as well as I why I am here.”

“Wh-what?”

“I know Xander called you, I know Wilbur may be alive.”

“How did you-”

“Xander Lee is one of the best damned agents I have ever worked with, but he still has not perfected the art of masking his thoughts. You can read his face like a gossip tabloid.”

Howard, was not sure of this, as he hadn’t the faintest clue what Xander was thinking, let alone saying the time he met him on Black Friday.

“Cross is alive. I know i-”

John was cut off by a large sound coming from far off, an explosively resonant sound that seemed to break the glass bubble he and Howard were currently in.

“Mr. President, we need to get you inside. Now.”

\--

Howard was entirely out of his element. In the process of forty-five minutes, his world went from sitting with John, talking about his favorite goddamn color to the Oval Office being turned into an inter-dimensional Task-Force’s secondary base of operations.

“My mentor, Wilbur Cross, stepped through that portal and came out a raving lunatic. He pledged his undying loyalty to the forces within and disappeared soon after. And what you are trying to tell me, Xander, is that somehow after me stabbing him in the Black And White has managed to open another gateway to our world in downtown Washington?”

“Had managed, sir.” A heavy-set woman, who Howard believed John had called Colonel Schaffer, butted in.

“We have already taken a squad down to the location and sealed the portal,” Xander motioned to the White-House window.

“And yet, there was no thought to notify me to be down there with them?”

“John, with all due respect,” Xander responded, “you were the one who decided to safeguard Howie. Simple catechism, the sons the father, the father the son. We can’t let you risk going down there and finding Wilbur.”

“You mean to tell me that he wasn’t at the sight?”

“Not a trace, sir,” Schaffer added, “but if we do find a trace of him, we will notify you.”

“Good.” There was seething tension behind John’s words, and he spoke fast and to the point. “Mr. President, we need your help again to cover this up.”

Howard perked up a little, “Do you need me to do like, a press-conference or something? How do I cover this shit up?”

“Simple. It was a terrorist attack.” Schaffer states.

“No, no, no that doesn’t work.” Xander piques up, “how do we explain the mass-hysteria that occurred when the portal opened?”

“Good point Xander. Any other options?”

The room exploded in a hubbub of ideas being thrown by various other important members of P.E.I.P. and Howard was incredibly overwhelmed.

“I need a minute.”

He quickly darted outside to the balcony and took a long breath of air. Just to calm his nerves, but instead, it got worse and his hands started to shake, clinging desperately to the railing as if to remind himself that this was reality.

It wasn’t the fact that Howard hadn’t done press conferences before, he was usually pretty good at them, the worry was palpable about this specific event. For all he goddamn knew, he was going to have to go back into the Black and White, and maybe this time he’d die there proper. John wasn’t going to be there to save him again, the glorious bastard. He almost got himself killed for Howard, without even batting an eye.

He frowned, letting the ghost of John’s name sit on his tongue.

Ideally, he would love to kiss him and cuddle him and do all the things that boyfriends did but he was the goddamn President of the United States. He can’t do that, the media would go insane. For all he knew, John was straight too. His face was such a strong mask of his emotions most of the time, and even though it seemed to lift when the two were together, was that just because John was Howard’s friend?

Howard hadn’t been in a relationship since High-School, he had no clue what to do with that, so he instead tried to suppress it and focus. That’s what John would want him to do, to focus and make his country proud.

“This is ridiculous. Fuck that. Fuck that! Just go in there, and make John proud dammit.”

“I assure you, Mr. President, you don’t need to make me proud.”

Howard spins around, quickly locking eyes with John, his heart skipping a beat. He looks pretty in the evening light.

“I- uh, please don’t tell me you heard that.” Howard fumbles out, trying his best to not sound nervous as John brandishes a cigarette from one of his vest pockets.

“I did, in fact, hear what you said Mr. President.”

“Please John, call me Howard.” Howard tried to say without letting his nerves get to him.

“Alright.”

“I’m scared John, I don’t want to go back into the Black and White again.”

John’s face softened a little, and he grabbed Howard by the shoulder.

“Howard, I have served with many brave men and women in my time. There has not been a single one that has felt no fear at such a grave task as what you faced last Black Friday. Even if I were in your position I would be frightened. Embrace the fear, so you understand your enemy. Forge a heart of steel from it, and let yourself become filled with the courage of the human heart.”

“Even you too were frightened?” Howard stammered, a little meeker than intended.

John smiled. “Of course, I was worried about going into the Black and White that I would not get you out. When I did, I was worried that I, myself, might not get out. I promised myself to at least share a cup of black coffee with you.”

A wink.

“Are you trying to imp-”

“Shh. Your press conference is in 15 minutes, Mr. President. We need to get you back into your suit. You are going to say that there was a gas leak, that ruptured and caused the explosion, inadvertently causing mass bouts of paranoia and hysteria in citizens of surrounding areas.”

“That uhh, that sounds smart.”

John chuckled a little, which was a surprise to both of them, “indeed Mr. President, that is what P.E.I.P. does. You can do this. I will see you inside.”

“Fuck,” Howard mutters.

The fifteen minutes pass in a blur, and soon Howard is hastily walking on stage. He knows that the press may take it as a sign of worry, that he isn’t telling the truth to the public, but all his ways of calming himself down have been exhausted.

“Good morning, everybody,” Howard speaks into the microphone, glancing over the room.

There are reporters from all the major news outlets there, and surprisingly he finds comfort in this, especially considering how quickly this conference was put together.

“I want to say a few words about the explosions that happened here in Downtown Washington earlier this afternoon. I have been monitoring the situation closely and have been receiving updates from my team, and have recently gathered new information from our F.B.I. director. What appears to have been a pipe-bomb set off near the National Museum of Women in the Arts was in fact, not a bomb at all.”

Howard left a moment for the new information to sink in. Glancing over to where John was standing behind the curtains, he received a reassuring nod.

“The gas leak that happened here, left no casualties, and we send our thoughts and prayers to all of those that have been injured, and we wish them a speedy recovery. I would also like to commend the outstanding police and first responders in the neighborhood for their extraordinary professionalism and quick response, which I am sure helped in preventing any further bodily harm than what had already occurred at that time.”

“The investigation is moving rapidly, and is my practice; I will leave it to my Vice President to comment further on it. As you may be undoubtedly aware at this point, there is no person of interest. The focus of the investigation is tracking down what went wrong with the piping systems, and if there is the possibility for further incidents like this one. At this stage, however, it is very unlikely, and we assure the residents of Downtown Washington that there is not anything to fear.”

“Again, we would like to reassure the people of this city, this region, and all across America that this was an isolated incident, and there is nothing to be afraid of. Thank you very much, everybody, and I am sure you will be receiving more updates in the coming hours. Goodnight.”

\--

John nodded at Howard as he moved fully off stage.

“I told you, Mr. President, there was nothing to worry about.”

“Okay John, you were right. I didn’t fuck it up!” Howard said, a little too excitedly.

The adrenaline starts to kick in as Howard’s internal strength suddenly sky-rockets. The press confidence reignited something in him, and he looked at John, dead in the eye.

“John, you said something about a coffee date earlier?”

“I did not say date, Mr. President, but I do hold myself to my promises. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it too.” Howard blushes, the ignition in his chest spreading to his grin.

John smiles, and Howard knows that ideally, he wants to kiss that man before he dies.

“John?”

Somehow, John knows what Howard means by this, “Yeah, me too.”

Howard catches John’s eyes skipping down to meet his lips, and the boost of confidence becomes even greater. So he leans closer, resting his head on John’s.

But John is the one to close the gap between their faces, interlocking his lips with Howard’s, clinging to him. It’s not a long kiss, but it’s soft and both Howard and John feel like it could go on forever. John lets out a deep hum of satisfaction, and Howard can feel his smile brush against his own.

Howard moves up to John’s face, but maybe it was too abrupt because it startles him.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s fine Howard. My apologies, that could have been romantic.”

“Don’t apologize. We can give it another try later. ..if you want to, that means. Just if you-“

“I would love that.”

“Yeah?”

John nods.

“How about we get that coffee somewhere, hey?”

John smiles at him, “I can arrange that. Wherever you want.”

“But what about the press?”

“P.E.I.P. can arrange something,” John responds with a wink, before landing another soft kiss on Howard’s lips. It was gentle, but also perfect.

“God, John, you’re already surprising me.”

“It is my specialty, Mr. President. Having no surprises in one's life is rather boring, after all.”

They chuckle lightly, before starting to walk to the car that would take them back to the Oval Office, each noticing how their strides grew in confidence and bounce. What they didn’t notice was the guard with the slicked-back hair, half blended in the shadows, with a camera.

_Click._


	2. you and i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for John and Howard's first date, and not only are both of them worried about not being good enough for each other, but they are blissfully unaware of the chaos that will ensue by the time the day is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have another relatively plot-heavy chapter, but hopefully, it's balanced by the fluff in the chapter too!

John McNamara was a reasonable man.

He never used to let his personal and professional lives mix, but occasionally there were blurred areas where they were joined. A recent development in that area was Howard Goodman. He was a kind man, that much was for certain, and although some might say that he was simply “status-quo” and nothing else, John would have to disagree. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and he wasn’t afraid to say when he was confused or uncertain.

John had thought the hardest thing was going to be actually asking Howard out, but sitting in his room trying to find something to wear was becoming a strong contender.

So, if in doubt, call Xander Lee.

“Hey Xander, I need some help.”

“What’s wrong this time John?” Xander’s voice crackled through his phone.

“I uhh, can not find an outfit for a- date.”

“Hm.” Xander chuckled, “finally moving on from me are you?”

John winced. “Very cute.”

“I heard that. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Howard Goodman.”

“God John. I knew your taste in men was a little off-kilter, but the President? What are you, crazy?”

“Something like that.”

“Wear that leather jacket, you know the one with the stars instead of buttons? Maybe you can have a deep conversation on American patriotism.”

“If I recall, Xander, the last time I had a conversation with a partner on American Patriotism, the rest of the night was spent reminding me of the differences between it and American Nationalism.”

“Well, it wasn’t my fault that you didn’t remember 10th grade Social Studies, now was it?”

“You are just jealous.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny John. Don’t forget to polish those boots you wear on literally any date you go on.”

“Which has not been very many, Xander.” John retorted.

“Just saying, you need something to match your shiny medals.”

“He knows of my occupation. Xander, there is no need to share that information in public any more than necessary.”

“Wear a scarf, so you can romantically give it to Howard, or something like that.”

“It is our first date, not the tenth, and that is forgetting the fact that it is summer.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Thank you, Xander.”

“No probs John, tell me how it goes.”

Beep.

Xander hung up.

After contemplating Xander’s advice, John decided it would be best to follow it, he didn’t want to risk anything. Fixing his hair up into a low ponytail, he smiled. He would make this work.

\--

Howard was nervous. Really nervous. He hadn’t been on a date since high school, and even then it was a double date, and he didn’t really like the girl he went with, because his friend set them up. Goddamnit Henry. Apparently John had got P.E.I.P. to place agents in the area where they were going to meet. He wasn’t necessarily sure even going outside was a good idea because he was sure that people would recognize him.

Howard didn’t understand the credit of just getting coffee as a date, but it was John’s idea, and he thought it best to leave it, he could choose the next date. If there was a second date. He hadn’t considered the possibility of their relationship ending after the end of tonight.

He kept spiraling like this until he reached his destination, a small, artsy cafe that John said made some of the best coffee this side of Beanies. Howard didn’t really know what Beanies was, but he let it slide; what else was he supposed to do? Interrupt John’s cute ramblings? No, he’d ask after he was done. He jogged up to the door, and his hand hesitated as he closed it around the handle. He could hear the soft hum of music coming inside, but before he could recognize the song, someone called out from behind him.

“Howard?”

In a surprising chirp, Howard swung around quickly. For a moment, he didn’t recognize John, his hair was usually fastened by his beret, but this time it was tied up loosely. The breath was caught in Howard's throat. A leather jacket hung firmly to his body over a partially unbuttoned shirt. His eyes were bright when he made eye contact with Howard.

“I took the opportunity to order you some coffee, I hope you do not mind.”

Howard smiled, “no, I don’t mind at all.”

There were two cups of simple, black coffee, on the table, in front of two rustic chairs. Howard assumed one was his, so he strode over to take a seat. Howard could feel the nervous energy coming off him in waves, but John didn’t seem to notice or acknowledge it.

“Take a sip before it gets cold Howard.”

Howard nodded, thankful for the structure of John’s speech. The to-the-point nature of it gave something for Howard to lean on as he calmed himself down.

“Black Coffee.”

“The best there is. Other than Beanies coffee.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you-” Howard almost laughed at how ridiculous his question was going to be, “what the fuck is Beanies?”

John raised his eyebrow.

“Beanies is a coffee shop, Howard. In this small town called Hatchetfield.”

“Oh. That’s where you got outta the Black and White, yeah?”

“Indeed. That town seems to be the epicenter of most problems that P.E.I.P. has had to resolve in the last six months. There are a couple of young girls there with powers related to the Black and White, and they managed to pull me out.”

“Oh god.” Howard glanced around the cafe’s patio, not sure where to go in the conversation from there.

“D-did it hurt?”

John looks weary for a split second, but he smiles. “I have gone through worse. It is a universal constant that unfortunate circumstances ruin my first experiences with important people like yourself. I, however, did escape. ”

“Universal constant? What do you mean by that?”

John looked entranced in thought for a moment, seemingly contemplating whether or not to explain or not.

“Perhaps, in another universe, we could have known each other years before, or we could be bitter rivals. There are multiple universes, therefore, there are multiple outcomes to the same story.” He noticed Howard’s confused expression, so he continued. “Every street has multiple exits, correct? There are very few dead-ends in our existence, and those are universal constants. So, no matter whether I was born ten years later, or I didn’t escape the Black and White, a universal constant is that my initial relationships are damaged by circumstance.”

John took what could be called a swig of his coffee, downing the bitter liquid in one gulp.

“It’s a shame we met in such… unfortunate circumstances.” John said in a slow drawl.

“Well, at least we have something in common.”

“I guess so. I think we’re more alike than you think.”

“I dunno, comparing me to a superhero like you is a little bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“We both like coffee, and we both have seen many things that perhaps we should not have.”

“That’s a start, isn’t it?”

“I hope, however, that your experience with the supernatural has come to an end. I cannot say the same for myself, however.”

Worried that he struck a nerve, Howard decided to swerve the conversation.

“I uh, noticed you’re always wearing the same watch. Is it like, a family heirloom or something?”

“Not an heirloom, per se. Time is vital in this world, and it deserves its own form of measurement!” The passion that John had when he was rambling about something started to overtake him. “There are monsters in this world, monsters that need to be stopped. If you are in danger, with no internet connection, nothing but 18th-century technology, how would you be able to rendezvous with a companion if you split? Wear a watch!”

Howard chuckled at John’s sudden burst of enthusiasm.

“I’ve never been able to find a watch that, well, doesn’t break within a week of buying it.”

“I know of several high-quality stores in which I can purchase you a watch if you would like.”

“O-oh! John, fuck no. You don’t have to do that for me.”

“It would be my pleasure, however, to do so, Mr. President.”

“What if people recognize me?”

“P.E.I.P. has its methods.” he winks, and Howard uses all his might to not get more flustered than he already is. God, that man is beautiful.

“Then, we’re both in luck,” Howard says, meeting John’s eyes. “Let’s go!”

He took a final swallow of his coffee and shook his face a little.

“Woo!”

\--

Strolling down the street, John couldn’t help himself from staring as Howard talked about something he had to deal with when campaigning to be the President. Much like himself, Howard had a passion for his work, but because of his job, it didn’t seem to come up as much. John smiled to himself, he knew he was lucky to be close to Howard.

Suddenly, he stopped.

“I think you’ve been following me for the last 15 minutes, John. I have no clue where the fuck we are.”

John chuckled, a little flustered, “it appears so, Mr. President.”

“Should we explore our way back to that shop you wanted to go to, ‘Mr. General’?”

“I would be happy to.”

Glancing around, Howard locked eyes with a second-hand book store. Without a second of hesitation, John was on the same page. Howard wordlessly brushed his finger against John’s.

He twitched a bit in recoil, but John accepted the gesture, taking it as an invitation to interlock their fingers. Howard squeezed back gently, comfortingly. A smile tugged at his lips, and John couldn’t help but smile back.

“Bookstore?”

“Hell yeah.”

Keeping their hands interlocked, they quickly crossed the road to meet the entrance to the bookstore. The moment they set foot into it, a wave of soft warmth overcame both of them, the soft scratching of a vinyl player in the background.

“Lead the way,” John let Howard move forward, their hands slowly coming apart.

“Surely you like books, don’t you John?”

John didn’t immediately respond, already looking at one of the many bookshelves in genuine interest.

“I like the classics,” John said, reaching out his hand to thumb across the spines of the books. “Fahrenheit 541… The Time Machine…”

“So you’re a science-fiction guy?”

“I believe in a truer power than any genre. I believe in the universal truth of love and the power of the human heart. I enjoy any book that can move me.” John knew this was a little bit of a cryptic answer, but he hoped that Howard got what he was saying.

Howard nodded in understanding, “that gives me an idea.”

“Oh?”

“We should like, buy each other a book.”

“Why is that?” John commented, amused.

“Well, it’d be fun! Books are a good way to get to know another person, right?”

“Indeed they are.”

“So it’s settled then. Let the best book-chooser win!”

John tilted his head in agreement, biting back a laugh from Howard’s dorky comment. He scanned his eyes over the covers of the books in the closest corner of the room, taking in the monotone shelves and titles. Howard strode sideways to another row and crouched down, pulling a book from the bottom shelf with a dark-blue color.

John crouched down next to him as Howard read the back cover of the book, where the summary was written.

“What do you normally read?” Howard smiles at him before turning back to the book, “I read all sorts of books too, but I really like crime-fiction.” He flipped the book over, revealing the title.

“What’re you waiting for John? I’ve got your book!”

\--

It didn’t take long after for John to choose him a book, Howard reflects. The sky is starting to darken and John hurriedly guides him through the thickening crowds of the streetside. Struggling to keep a hold of John’s hand, Howard’s speed doubles, and even then he’s barely tailing him.

“John, slow down!”

He doesn’t get a response, but that’s to be expected. The crowd is so dense that Howard would be surprised that anyone could hear him. At least they were walking at a steady pace. It seems John was completely enamored with the idea of buying Howard a watch. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but Howard was more than happy to indulge his new boyfriend in this endeavor.

He let the thought of John being his boyfriend set in a little. Despite his age of 37, Howard hadn’t ever been a part of the dating sphere, too busy focusing on being the “youngest president” ever elected. Luckily, he beat John F. Kennedy by 6 years, but looking back on things, he could have technically waited for the next election, and let himself be more among his peers.

As quick as his steps, the thought passed, however. If he had waited there was no way he could have met John. He wouldn’t trade anything for that, even if it meant that he was more inexperienced.

With a jolt, John guides him into a small store on the edge of the shopping strip. Suddenly, his nostrils were hit with the pungent smell of sandalwood.

“We are here.” John looks down, almost embarrassed.

“Whoa,” Howard muttered, letting his surroundings process.

The store was covered in shades of brown clocks and old televisions, from wall to wall there was not an empty space to be seen. Shelves were lined with old fashioned knick-knacks, of which Howard assumed was mostly genuine.

“This store is simply called ‘Time”. It was my favorite place to go whenever I joined Father on his business trips. That’s where I got this from,” He motions to his watch, which Howard notices, has two sets of clocks, and six different hands.

As he notices, most of the clocks in this store have similar designs.

“Holy shit. It's a clock-ception here.”

“A potent way to put it. Do you have a specific color or design in mind for your watch?”

“Anything’s fine, really John.”

“Alright. I will be right back.”

Quickly, John disappeared to the back of the store, and Howard started to wander around. The air was thick with nostalgia for both the past and future. He wasn’t sure why, but the atmosphere was infectious. He found himself wandering the cramped aisles, looking for something unknown.

Soon, he came to the most cramped corner in the room, and he locked eyes with them. Partly stuffed behind a tower of boxes, almost blended in with the walls, were two polaroid cameras. Intricately designed with gold and brown swirls on wood-grain, Howard was enamored with them on eye-contact. Swiftly he picked them up, drudging through the boxes to get to the front of the store, where assumedly John and the store owner would be.

Instead of John, however, he only made eye contact with an older woman, sitting at the counter, fixing a clock.

“Uh, excuse me, ma’am? My- have you seen a man about yay tall,” he points to the air next to his cheekbone, “long red hair, clipped beard? Wearing a leather jacket?”

The lady simply laughs politely and points to the cameras.

“Oh, these? I was uhh, they caught my eye! I like taking photos.”

She tilts her head, inquisitively, a little reminiscent of John.

“I can put them back if you want, I thought they were for sale since they had price tags-”

“He’s a good one.” she utters, before picking up her clock and moving toward the back room.

In the moments that she moves into the room, John comes out, holding a small box, with which Howard assumes holds a watch. John softly smiles and walks up to Howard.

“Here is your watch, Mr. President.”

“Thanks John, you really didn’t have to-”

“I, however, wanted to.” He cuts Howard off with a content tone, holding the box out to Howard.

Opening the box, he sees a black watch, with elegant hands and two clock faces. The faces themselves are silver, and the wristband is a thick yet fine leather; not a single crease, fold, nor wrinkle to be seen. The time is set, and the clocks tick away.

“It’s- it’s beautiful, John.”

“I thought it would be suited to a man of your sophistication.”

Howard really thought that hiding his crush on John would be the hardest part of his life, but every word that came out of his mouth made it harder and harder. He doesn’t know why John’s words affect him so heavily, perhaps it’s the sheer honesty of them, but he doesn’t mind being enamored with John.

“You’re pretty,” Howard started, before realizing his slip up.

Now it was John’s turn to be flustered, shooting Howard an embarrassed smile, “thanks, you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Well, I have something to buy for you too now, John.”

Howard holds out his findings to John, mimicking his earlier action.

“Polaroid cameras?”

“I don’t know why, but something in me felt a calling to them. We can have something like the watches, but from me?”

John looks at Howard inquisitively, almost surprised. He nods.

“The human gut is a fickle thing, but it is one of the few things we must learn to trust.”

Quickly, John puts the money in cash for the cameras and the watch on the counter and goes to leave.

“Shouldn’t we give the cash to the woman?”

“She is very much aware of our payment, do not worry.”

Howard supposed that John knew better since he had been to this store before as a child. That didn’t ease the nervous feeling in the back of his throat, telling him that he had stolen something. This was all ignoring the strange encounter with the store owner herself, who Howard could swear looked like John, although he wasn’t sure how. Most events surrounding him were shrouded in mystery, he surmised. Perhaps one day he’d understand the meanings behind the fog. In fact, he really hoped he did.

“Would you like to come back home with me?” Howard asked.

John raised his eyebrow. “I would be more than happy to accompany you.”

\--

It was almost night-time when John and Howard had got back to the Whitehouse, the sky a deep purple, crimson remnants of the sunset scattered throughout. It was at that point that he realized that it would be very difficult to get back to his own apartment and not compromise his sleep-schedule heavily.

Luckily, Howard had a solution for that.

“Hey John,” he mumbled a little, clearly embarrassed, “would you like to stay the night? We could read our books together if you want.”

The suggestion of getting to spend more time with Howard filled John with warmth, and the very thought of spending the night with him in any capacity put him at ease.

“I would like that, Howard.”

Howard smiled back sheepishly, before the realization that John said yes actually hit him.

“O-oh! Really? Do you want something like, dinner?”

“Hot chocolate is good while reading books.”

“Alright, I think we can do that!”

Howard then, for the third time that day, joined his hand with John’s and guided him to a medium-sized seating area, where a large couch stood, covered in blankets and cushions of different sizes. There were various loose-leaf papers and binders scattered throughout the mess of comfort, and various dried coffee mugs adorned the side tables.

“Ah shit, sorry for the mess John, I’ll clean it up, don’t worry-”

“It’s fine, Mr. President. I can help.”

Together, they made quick work of cleaning the sofa, and soon they had mugs of a milky, steaming liquid in hand.

Howard was set up on the other end of the couch, the warm fleece between them, caught over their knees. Under covers, John could feel his feet flex every time the plot moved forward. In the back of his mind, John started matching the movement to the action on his own page. Over the top of his book, he could watch his face contort in surprise and interest, even more than his feet.

“Are you enjoying my recommendation?”

Howard looked up, shocked out of his immersion in the book. “Sorry?”

“The book. Are you enjoying it?”

“I sure am,” he said airly, lowering his book to make eye contact with Howard.

“I didn’t think you would like such a romantic novel before today.”

John’s gaze was steely, but only for a moment. It softened into amusement. “Howard….”

He laughed and dog-eared his book. “It’s okay to enjoy cheesy things, John.”

John sighed, but not in resignation, but rather in fondness.

“Indeed it is,” he muttered, a little embarrassed.

“I did not take you as the teasing type, nor the type for such a dark book.”

Howard put his book down to one side and stole a bit more blanket. “I think we’re both full of surprises John.” He drifted off into a nap, warm under the blanket, his legs tangled with John.

John resigned his book also to the side table also, and took a sip of his hot chocolate. Howard’s face looked peaceful, and John thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful in that moment. That beauty gave him an idea.

Silently reaching for the end of the table, John fished out the polaroid camera that Howard got him. Opening it up, he was lucky to find a film already in the camera. Perfect.

Quickly and silently, he set up the small camera, placing it in the right position to catch Howard’s face in the night time light. He knew he would have to leave before Howard woke up the next morning, so he thought it would be best to leave a little note.

It was a little strange, and John was very aware of it. However, Howard was too cute in his resting position, and he thought it the best way to tease him for it later, for he was also incredibly endearing when flustered.

He just needed to make sure he wrote good morning on the polaroid, so he didn’t think that John abandoned him.

_Click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> john bought howard "turtles all the way down", by john green  
> howard bought john "a little life", by hanya yanigahara


	3. out like a light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john sleeps in, and get's roped into meeting one of howard's high school friends. for some reason, however, john recognises him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did this chapter take forever? yes. did i split it into two chapters because it was triple the length of my other two? yes.

It wasn’t often that John McNamara woke up slowly. That was not to say that he was the type to immediately hop out of bed, but once he was awake, there’d be no way that he could get back to sleep. His nerves and other instincts were much to honed for that. They scream at him that the more time he spends in bed. They say that the more he is there, the less time he has to spend protecting the innocent around the world; the less time he is aware of his surroundings, the less protected he is. That series of thoughts tended to be enough to make sure that someone is awake.

This, granted, was completely ignoring the gut-wrenching, sweat-inducing, and scream producing nightmares. The kind that could make him jump out of bed as soon as his muscles responded to the commands his brain gave them. Wake up. You’re not safe here. You’re not dead yet, but you might be soon. He had long since convinced himself that men in his line of work that live without those dreams were not to be trusted.

This particular morning, though, he came to awareness slowly. A drowsy, whimsy mist covered his higher brain functions. He first vaguely registered warmth, then fleece. A grunt came from beside him, and he felt someone come closer to his neck.

An intruder. Someone’s trying to sedate you.

Instead, he felt a satisfied hum into his shoulder. John allowed a couple more moments to let the intrusion settle. The warmth of the body touching him was divine. The feeling of skin on his own was not like anything he had ever felt before. He tried his best not to shiver, perhaps he had lost his memory and it was a dead body lying on top of him. There was no way this was a live human.

John put his hand in front of the sun and opened his eyes. The ambient brightness still succeeded in stunning him momentarily, causing the shock of Howard snuggled up to his collarbone to ricochet through his body with the realization that the man was alive, and breathing.

He managed to peel himself, quickly, out of his boyfriend’s grip enough to move comfortably, rolling away from the sun, and onto the floor.

With a soft thud, John realised he was not on a bed, but he had instead slept in, on the sofa that he and Howard had set up yesterday. The memories of their date hit him like a pile of bricks, and the shock began to set in. His brain tried desperately to make sense of the man who apparently had rotated onto John’s own body. 

A shiver, this time up his spine. The thought of such human intimacy scared John, but still he studied him.

Depending on how well you knew Howard Goodman, John surmised, you might be surprised that the man had a nasty habit of drooling. It was endearing, his bed-head and slight snores complimenting the puppy dog nature of his visage. Maybe they were indicators of how comfortable Howard was with John, but the back of his mind screamed that somehow it was not, that they were in danger and the drool was a sign of poisoning.

Another shiver. John tried to suppress the thoughts of potential mind-altering drugs or other-worldly possessions. Howard’s saliva wasn’t blue, it was very unlikely that he was under any influence.

He slowly eased himself off the floor, wincing whenever it creaked or Howard stirred. After an agonizing minute, he finally managed to slip into a bathrobe, that presumably Howard had set out the night before and into the hall. The soft carpet was thankfully not too cold, and offered soundproofing, despite John’s silent footfall.

Shiver. The bathrobe smelt like the brief scent John got of Howard.

Sunlight shone through the curtains covering the balcony’s glass doors. The light blue thread washed the rest of the halls and the mini-kitchen in a similar shade. John stood and took in the sight for a few breaths, then hissed as his feet crossed from the carpet to freezing hardwood, then even worse, the kitchen tile. 

Searching through the kitchenette, he found a mug and filled it with water. Rather than being hungry, he had mostly been parched, and this thirst had been quenched after drinking up the rest of the mug. He swallowed thoughtfully. Thought perhaps was too subtle a word. Spiralling would be more effective. He peered at the clock.

A colder shiver. John had slept in. Was the physical comfort that he received during his sleep why?

Even though he tried to put no real effort into how he stepped, it's very hard to put no thought into something you were just thinking about, as he had found out that morning. His footsteps were flat and even, and his spine stayed straight. He needed a cold shower.

John faintly remembered Howard mentioning a shower being a room over from the place where they slept, and so he followed the memory toward the room. Luckily, his memory had not deceived him.

He found some spare towels laid out, and he hoped that Howard had set them out, and that he wasn’t being intrusive. Either way, John would deal with it after his shower. He slid the bathrobe off, placed it to the side, and stepped in.

Shivers ran down his body.

John had always found a deep comfort in the sheer cold of a shower. It cleansed him of impurities that were not internal, and it shocked him out of whatever day-dreamy state he had lost himself in.

In this case, however, John immediately regretted it.

He took a deep breath, resolving himself to the fate he had brought upon himself. Howard had cuddled with him, even if he wasn’t aware of it. The ghostly hands of past human contact dragged across his skin teasingly, like the water. More and more shivers sent waves of emotions unknown to John through his brain. He decreased the temperature, trying to get it colder, hoping it pelted across his back like hail. 

It worked, somewhat, and the cold shocked him into a greater awareness. The cold made his body shiver and John reminded himself that this was reality. Not the warmth of another, but the freezing temperatures that life could cast down on you at any moment. He knew that it was probably on accident, there was not a person that John knew that would actively touch him.

He shivered again, and it was only after John got out of the shower, he noticed the warmth on his face, and tying the towel around his waist, he realised he had been crying.

\--

Howard woke up, quickly realising that John was nowhere to be found, and more importantly that he had woken up on John’s side of the reading sofa. Shit. Did he scare John off?

Quickly however, Howard found the polaroid that presumably John had taken of him during his sleep. It was a little blurry, but it had scribbled in permanent marker down the bottom: ‘you look cute when you sleep.’ with a heart drawn at the end for good measure.

So maybe Howard hadn't scared John off, maybe he just had work or something. 

It was at that point that reality crashed down around him, and the realisation hit Howard that he was the President of the United States and that his new Boyfriend was a Military General. Maybe the polaroid had been faked and John had been kidnapped. Surely John would be able to fight back though, right? Unless he was asleep, and had been taken. That was why Howard was on his side of the sofa, because he had moved in his sleep or been moved to make it seem less suspicious that John was missing. God-damnit Howard, what the fuck are you going to do now? Your goddamn boyfriend had either flunked after you moved in your sleep or someone had kidnapped him and you would never see him again.

Idiot.

“Mr. President?”

“Oh fuck, John!” Howard sounded a little too desperate in that yelp, but he whipped around quickly to the sight of his boyfriend…

Who had nothing but a towel tied around his waist. His hair was soaked and it looked longer than it did dry, probably because of how curly it was. Howard also noticed the rippling muscle and scarred skin of his upper torso, but he tried his best to suppress his highly suggestive mind. 

“Sorry to alarm you, I am not intruding, am I?”

“No of course not!” Howard smiled awkwardly to try and ease the apprehension in John’s eyes, which looked oddly red but he didn’t want to comment on it. “You just scared me a little, I thought you had been kidnapped or something.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at John’s lips, “I assure you, Mr. President, that you would know if I were to be kidnapped. Your sleep most certainly would be disturbed by the fight that had ensued.”

Howard bit his tongue, knowing full well that he was a deep sleeper and that he probably wouldn’t. 

“I see you found my picture.”

“O-Oh! Yeah! How’d you manage that?”

“We people in P.E.I.P. have a saying. When something is cute, it is understandable if you, well, take a peep.”

Howard snorted at that. 

“You think I’m cute?”

“Very much, sir.”

“C’mon John, we practically slept together last night-” Howard choked on his words.

“What I meant to say was, we might be in the Whitehouse but you’re still my boyfriend. You don’t have to call me sir.”

“On the contrary-

“John, for god's sake you’re standing in a Whitehouse living room with nothing but a towel around your waist, which I’m surprised you remembered I showed to you by the way. I think it’s safe to assume that nothing bad will come from calling me Howard.”

John darted his eyes for a minute. 

“Okay. . . Howie.”

“Howie?” Now it was Howard’s turn to dart his eyes in a fluster.

“I thought it would be sufficient, considering your- endearing nature.”

“You truly know a way to a man’s heart John.”

John simply shrugged.

“Do you uhm, need to borrow some clothes?” Howard asked, awkwardly.

“I would not want to intrude, Howie, but if you could spare me some-”

“Easy, come with me.”

\--

John fumbled with the buttons of the shirt. Howard had insisted that he take a day off, assuming the redness and sniffling coming from him was caused by some sickness, and he silently cursed himself for not sharing what was the actual matter. It would be something he brought up in his own time, he supposed.

Either way, this series of events had led John to Howard’s closet, trying to fit the bright orange and purple shirt over his burlier frame. Eventually, he gave in and decided to instead leave the top three buttons undone, letting his dog tags hang loose over the shirt, as opposed to hidden underneath. The jeans he borrowed fitted tightly also, but they were comfortable and John hoped Howard didn’t mind how form-fitting they were.

“Hey John I-”

Howard opened the door and stood flabbergasted, a heat rising to his cheeks.

“Yes, Howie?”

“I uhm, I put your shit in the washing machine, so they’ll be clean by lunchtime.”

A soft smile approached John’s lips. “Thanks.”

“Oh, also! I have an old friend coming over today, he’s also coincidentally a member of P.E.I.P.’s civilian task force. I was wondering if you would like to meet him?”

“I doubt this,” John motioned to his uncharacteristically casual number, “is much suited for such a meeting, but I would like that.”

“Alright then, he’ll uhm, be here in half an hour!”

“Good to know.” 

Howard started to leave, but John stopped him.

“Thank you Howard, really.”

“It’s no problem John!” 

John swore to himself at that instant that he’d do anything and everything to see the smile Howard gave him again. 

As soon as Howard left, John was alerted to a quick buzz in his pocket. In reading over his phone, he noticed a new text. 

_**→ Ken Davidson** _

_Hi John,_

_Manny was interested in spending some time with his favourite uncle (you!), are you interested in hosting him in your apartment!?!?!?! Carol would like him to connect more with his family, and we think you’re the best place to start! 😊👍_

John shook his head slightly, his older brother tried very hard to keep John in the loop when it came to family events. Most of the time, John opted not to participate in them, as he didn’t want to put his family in unnecessary danger. That, and that he wasn’t sure how to interact with them after their foster father disappeared. However, he had a soft spot for his nephew Mannford, and John had many fond memories of running around with the kid when he was little, Mannford was always in a hurry. 

_**→ John McNamara** _

_I have no qualms with having Mannford stay at my apartment for a week or two. When would you like me to have him?_

_**→ Ken Davidson** _

_Hi John!! No time, no see!! He’s actually about to get on a plane to Washington right now, he has an art project and wanted to try sketching that area that exploded the other day! I’m sure you could get him in on a special pass or something, considering your special military powers. 🤣🤣🤣_

_**→ John McNamara** _

_I am sure you are aware I cannot do that, Ken. What time will he be arriving?_

_**→ Ken Davidson** _

_Around Midday tomorrow⏰!_

_**→ John McNamara** _

_Does he have my address?_

_**→ Ken Davidson** _

_Yes, he does! You’d be surprised to see how much he looks like you. He’s always wanted to grow his hair out and he finally did! You wouldn’t believe that he’s eighteen now! No girlfriend, but hey, you still don’t have one, so you can be two grapes in a pod!_

_**→ John McNamara** _

_I believe the saying is two peas in a pod. Not two grapes._

_**→ Ken Davidson** _

_Naww, trust you to be no fun, John. I’ll send you his phone number! Tell me when he gets to your place, and don’t forget to get a photo of you two together! Something to put in the family photo album! 📸_

_**→ Ken Davidson** _

_Manny 📸!_

John clicked on the link and quickly renamed the contact to Mannford Davidson.

_\- NEW CONVERSATION -_

_**→ John McNamara** _

_Hello Mannford, it is your Uncle John. Your father told me that you were heading over to Washington, and I offered to let you stay at my apartment during your stay. I assume you have my address, and was just texting you just so you are aware that arrangement was made._

_**→ Mannford Davidson** _

_hi unc. john_

_kool thx_

_**→ John McNamara** _

_No problem._

John figured that Mannford would want to save as much phone battery as possible before getting on the plane. The week was slowly becoming more and more eventful, and he would not be surprised if it were to continue this way for a long time. The sudden speed in which these plans were made shocked John out of noticing the increasing speed in which he was sniffling. Maybe Howard was right when he said that John might be sick. 

“Hey, Howie?” John called, hoping that on the off chance that Howard was nearby.

“Yes, John?” 

“My nephew, Mannford, is coming to stay over at my apartment from tomorrow, that sadly means that I will not be able to stay longer than tonight.”

John could hear footsteps that were presumably Howard’s speeding down the corridor outside the room he was currently in.

“You know, John, you sound awful, maybe you should go home tonight.”

“I think I should be fine, do not worry about me. 

Howard sighed. “If I have to drag you back to your apartment John, you might have to host me as well. You shouldn’t be ignoring it!”

“I am not ignoring it, I simply know what my limits are, and when I can deal with something.”

“Clearly.”

John nodded in response, trying not to give away the hoarseness he started to feel in his throat.

“Well when you’re finished in here, come and meet me in the foyer down the hall. Henry should be here any minute now, he’s already been searched and his ID’s been checked.”

“Okay, thank you, Howie.”

Howie smiled back at John, still very much flustered by the new nickname. “You look good in that shirt John, you should wear more colours than just black.”

John liked the shirt as well, partially because it was Howard’s. Not that he would ever admit that though.

“Maybe I will, thanks for the suggestion.”

\--

Howard fiddled with the photo that John had taken the night prior. It was silly, but there was something about the offbeat humour that came with it that warmed his heart. It was very much “John” if John were an adjective.

Howard was surprised he knew what an adjective was.

He was also surprised at how upfront he had been with John being sick. Howard didn’t know why, but something about John not taking proper care of himself sparked something inside of him; a similar feeling to when he refused to eat lunch when they went on that picnic together. In a weird way, Howard also realised that the picnic might actually have been their first date. Maybe he was thinking too deeply about it. He probably was.

The door in the Foyer opened, and Howard was forcibly knocked to his sentences by the deep voice of the man who opened it.

“Good god.” 

The lanky man at the opposite end of the hall wore a shocked smile on his face, lighting his slightly wrinkled face up. Since the last time Howard had seen Henry Hidgens, his hair had predominantly greyed, most likely from the stress of being an “in-demand biologist” as he would so eloquently put it. 

“Hey Henry!” Howard grinned, moving toward the man.

“Howard, I can’t believe it!” The older man returned the sentiment and they embraced in a friendly hug. 

“What has it been, like four years?”

“Five years, four months and three days, old friend!” Henry chuckled, patting Howard’s back. “Why, in that time you’ve become the President of the United States! How is that treating you?” 

Howard guided Henry to the sofa in the adjacent room, “I’m surprised I haven’t started greying like you, to be honest. Good house though, lot’s of sofas.”

Henry smiled and shook his head at that. “You and your sofas.”

“Hey, at least I’m not attracted to a machine!”

“First of all, Ward, Siri is an artificial intelligence, and I love her as much as any woman of flesh and blood!”

“Right,” Howard raised his eyebrow before chuckling. “You’ve been going on about her since that convention you took me and the rest of the boys to after I graduated.”

“Owl-Con was a huge success, you know that more than any of the other boys, Ward!”

“I’m sure that if Greg, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad were here Henry, they would beg to differ. All you did all day was give speeches about, uhm-”

“About the Biological responses to artificial affection, and how you can love something inanimate as much as you love something animate!”

“Yeah, sure.” Howard was quickly confused by the technobabble coming from Henry. “What’s up with calling me “Ward” anyway? I haven’t heard you use that nickname for me since you graduated?”

“I don’t know, feeling reminiscent, to be honest.” 

“Reminiscent of being the first to Graduate out of the Working' Boy’s club?”

Henry laughed. “‘I might have graduated early, but you were the youngest. I have every right to tease you for it.”

“Well, I did all six years, Henry. You came to Hensondale High in your senior year! I’ve probably done more schooling than you, you mad scientist.”

Henry just smiled sadly at that.

“So, how’s being a kooky, reclusive biology professor going?” Howard quickly steered the conversation away from Hidgens’ mysterious past.

“To be frank, it’s shit.” Henry deadpanned, looking straight at Howard, before letting out another laugh. “Nah, it’s been good. Not only have I been teaching at the local university, but I was accepted as a teacher at Hatchetfield High as a part-time tutor."

“Wow, it looks like you do more work than I do,” Howard commented in jest.

“My godchild is actually about to graduate too!” Henry quickly scrounged around in his suit jacket to reveal a photo.

It was a group of presumably high school students. A girl with short hair, tucked behind a beanie, eyes bloodshot, with her waist hooked with a very feminine looking girl with a pink sweater and a shy demeanour. On the opposite side of them was another couple, a neither masculine-nor-feminine appearing kid with one earring, a leather jacket and a cowlick with their arm around the shoulder of a girl with a deadpan intensity to her stare. Sitting underneath them was a guy who looked uncannily similar to a young John, his tan trench coat covering the arm of a gentlemanly looking boy in a three-piece suit. There was another kid with wireframe glasses, and one with a bow-tie and an expression not unlike a scared cat. There were a couple other’s, but it was starting to be too many faces to process on Howie’s part.

Henry pointed to the androgynous kid, “This is my godchild Ethan! And after their parents kicked them out, I took it upon myself to help them in any way I could.”

“They look like…. No way. Mark had a son?”

“Mark had a kid, yeah. Ethan’s nonbinary. He made me promise to take care of them before he died, yes. It took a lot of searching to find them, but Ethan is Mark’s kid. The woman that took them had no right to treat Ethan the way she did.” Henry knitted his eyebrows.

“Hey, Henry, it’s alright. You got them now, Mark would be proud of you.”

“I hope so.” Henry smiled back, weaker than the previous times.

As if on cue from the sudden lull in the conversation, John came walking into the room. Perhaps it was the angle that Howard was looking behind him with, but it almost looked like he was hobbling.

“Oh Hello!” Henry perked up, a shadow of recognition contouring his face. “Who might you be?”

“John, John McNamara.” John offered a curt nod.

“He’s my boyfriend.” Howard chimed in, a little too excitedly.

“Nice to meet you, John.” Henry extended his hand to John, but when John took it… his vision quickly went black.

\--

John woke and it was dark. He thought he woke, at least. Slowly and surely his senses came to him in a blurry haze, not real enough to grasp reality, but enough to slip and fall off of it. Slowly the dark receded into a place he never thought he would see again.

His childhood bedroom was small, and in the current era, his reminiscence tended to ignore the dingy and cramped nature of a small room in a small house, shared with his two brothers. He could not see Ken or Sam, and neither could he move. He was trapped in this memory of murky lucidity.

Slowly but surely, time seemed to speed into normality as his wits came, and soon enough in came Ken. He said something about their father being drunk, that his mom was angry and they should hide. John realised Sam was already hiding under the bed.

John knew what this day was.

He felt his body move not at his own volition, nimbly jumping out of bed and quickly underneath, much like his two brothers. He saw the smoke fill the room and the feeling of knowing he was going to die hit him not like a distant memory, but as if he was re-living the moment his family died. He heard screams of anger, an overture to the darkening sky and the chaos that was about to erupt, and his bit tongue tasted of ashes and blood.

Suddenly, an explosion, and again time seemed to slow. He could feel himself grab Ken and Sam’s hands, and felt the composure of his current self slip away as he felt the moment fully, embracing it with the melancholy of an escaped prisoner.

John could feel his nine-year-old self’s consciousness scream for help, but he didn’t feel his mouth move. Instead, his outer thoughts became inner, and the dusty haze did not clear.

The vision of a spider. 

The vision of a spider clarified his perceptions and he remembered how he survived this moment. Webby. The three McNamara boys were always considered aloof, Ken focused intensely on the rhythm of numbers and patterns of interactions, not having anyone yet to help him see the world outside his notebook. Sam was too young to show the signs properly, but the way he looked at the people around him hinted that he was aware that he would never be like them. John didn’t speak with contractions and felt things too strongly. He had to build up a wall so tall that he wasn’t sure even trusting someone would be enough to help them over. Webby knew this, and she helped.

John often noted that although he always knew Webby was there, it wasn’t until after his mother's death that he could hear her. Maybe that was why Webby sounded so familiar, her maternal presence could only be understood through John’s own personal history.

Before the incident, John was just told he had good instincts. During the incident, he thought them, imaginary friends. Ken’s had one, certainly, but he tended to keep it a secret as he was ‘too old’. At least, that’s what John thought Ken told himself. Sam, on the other hand, named multiple. John thought he was too young to properly comprehend the creature visiting him, hence the confusion in what he named them, but Sam never wavered on this as he aged.

After the incident, John quickly learnt that rather than having good instincts or an imaginary friend, he genetically had a connection to a place outside all dimensions, a place where only time existed. The Black and White. It was this day he was re-experiencing that taught him the dangers of his own genes.

Watching your first home explode in front of you was an unforgettable experience. It embossed into the back of John’s eyes and glazed over the other senses until all you could feel was the structure collapsing. 

John wasn’t sure how long the darkness covered his vision after that, but when the memory decided to resume, he was in a stark room with his two brothers, face to face with the Lieutenant that would change their lives.

A lot would come to change in his face, the time passing over his face like a receding tide. He was young here, completely ready to face the world and his eventual adoption of the three McNamara brothers. Their “Uncle”, Lieutenant Wilbur Cross.

He doesn’t remember what he actually said here, but John remembers the feeling when Wilbur told them that their mother had died. It wasn’t till much later he told the full story, that Wilbur was forced to kill her to protect the other Black and White linked children in Hatchetfield. He remembers talk of one more survivor. 

His brothers were insistent on meeting the other survivor like them, even though they knew not only would they never see them again, but they were also someone they wouldn’t know. Naturally, John remembered being excited as well, although he wasn’t sure why.

When eventually John got to meet the other survivor, he remembered being shocked. He expected someone at least around the same age as him, but instead, he came face to face with an older teenager, with cropped blonde hair and a paranoid disposition. 

John was the first to meet the blonde teenager, and he remembers the near-man not originally noticing him. He remembers him holding a sketchbook, not dissimilar to how Ken held his notebook, and in the casual glances he received of this book, he remembered scattered formulas and scrawled paragraphs of text. Something about musicals and aliens invading minds. Not anything past that could he comprehend.

When the man finally made eye contact with John, his face softened a little.

John remembered raising out his hand, introducing himself as John McNamara. When John came into contact with the other boy’s hand, a memory was sparked and John started to wake, properly from the memory.

His name was Henry Hidgens.

\--

By the time John had started to stir, Howard and Henry had got him to his apartment.

It was a cramped little thing, there only being three rooms. The kitchen was so small Howard was surprised that John managed to cook anything in there, even with his chef-like proficiency. The curtains are drawn, and almost every surface is covered in various documents of unspecified natures. Howard decided not to pry.

“Good god. This place is a mess.” Henry absentmindedly commented.

“I’m surprised he has enough space to get ready in the morning.” Howard reminded, equally as unfocused on the small-talk, instead internally panicking over John’s lack of consciousness.

What had caused him to pass out like that? Was it because he was sick, like Howard had guessed earlier, or was it something to do with Henry? A small, selfish part of him hoped that John’s passing out was somehow linked to Henry’s mysterious background, but he cast that thought away. It was silly, wasn’t it?

In helping Henry move John to his bed, Howard quickly realized that it wasn’t silly.

“I know this man, Howard,” Henry gestured to John after he had been placed down. “I knew him when he was only a boy but, it’s undoubtedly the same John McNamara I met 25 years ago.”

“What happened?” Howard’s curiosity peaked, his gut usually wasn’t right.

“Do you recall why I moved to Hensondale High in my senior year?” 

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me why, no. Why?”

Henry’s face darkened into a steely intensity. “The reason I came to Hensondale High was that my hometown, Hatchetfield, well…”

He drifted off as if weighing whether or not he should say what he was about to.

“An event similar to last year’s Black Friday occurred, and only myself, John, and his two brothers survived.”

“Oh shit,” Howard mumbled, but before he could continue, he heard mumbling coming from John.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Call me, Howard, if you need anything.” Henry smiled.

“Really?”

“Really.” He stood up and left, waving before clip-locking the door. 

Howard’s hand absentmindedly drifted to John’s as he did, and squeezed it. John’s hand squeezed back, albeit weakly. His hand was clammy, but when Howard took a look at the hand properly, he realised that it wasn’t sweat, but blood.

The injury is not that bad. Sure, it's probably some form of karmic inter-dimensional wound and it must hurt like hell, but it didn't hit anything vital. It can be treated easily. It doesn't even bleed as much as it could. He's probably had much worse.

Howard however, loses it as soon as he sees the blood.

“Holy shit, John. How the fuck.”

John just incoherently mumbled in response, which was enough to slap Howard back into reality and try and find something to bandage the wound with.

Quickly rummaging through the drawers in John’s room, Howard found knick-knacks of unknown designs, but nothing to even dis-infect the wound. That was until he got to John’s bedside table. Bingo. There was a little bottle of disinfectant and a roll of bandages in the top drawer. Howard didn’t want to invade John’s privacy so he didn’t look in the other two drawers.

John muttered something along the lines of ‘it’s not that bad’, but Howard shushed him and gently rubbed the disinfectant on the wound, and then bandaged it up.

'Shhh, it’s okay.” It comes out a little stronger than intended, but Howard tried his best to be reassuring because John was in no state to even talk.

Noticing quickly that John was still wearing his shirt, he unbuttoned it a little more so John could breathe properly. He tried his best not to gape at the muscle underneath, but despite the fact he saw John’s musculature this morning, it was still a shock. He decided not to change John into anything else, as he didn’t want to overstep the currently murky boundaries of their relationship.

John mumbled something incoherent again.

'Hey, come on, what's wrong?', Howard smiles, shifting on the bed to rest John’s head in his lap.

His heart was beating furiously before, but it seems to stop completely when John opens his eyes a sliver and sleepily smiles at Howard.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbles, just audibly enough so Howard can hear him.

“You too, but you need to rest.” Howard stated soothingly, running his hands slowly through John’s hair. “Get some rest, we can talk more about how beautiful you are when you’re better.”

John grumbled a little at that comment, but complied, slowly drifting off to sleep on Howard’s lap. Despite the fact he was sweating buckets, Howard thought John more than just beautiful in that moment. When he was out like a light, Howard realised that he had his polaroid camera in his jacket pocket.

It was payback time for John.

_Click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, the photo does have a lot of the hatchetfield teens! we have: alice, deb, lex, ethan, gary, manny (man in a hurry!), cineplex teen and hot chocolate boy! 
> 
> can you guess who sam and ken's imaginary friends are?


	4. little talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john is sick, and howard is here to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're soft and i love them

Cough.

Sneeze.

Cough and Sneeze.

Cough.

Sneeze.

John was not having the best of days. After he had passed out in the Whitehouse, Howard had taken him back to his apartment, and he had slept for a solid 20 hours before waking up. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a breath out of his nose, it was dry and stuffy but yet he still needed to blow it every five minutes. His throat was dry and prickly, like a cactus. The back of his throat tickled just enough that he wanted to cough, but there was not enough stuff in his throat for it to be effective. His head felt thick, his head felt heavy, and he was sick of the sight of tissues already.

He should be out, back at his job at P.E.I.P., helping save innocent people, combat whatever remnants of Black Friday or the beginnings of the next apocalyptic level event to sweep the country. He was not supposed to be spending this time becoming strong acquaintances with his bed.

Not that he had a choice, mind you. Howard had insisted that he stay in his room, to rest up and beat his sickness. The only positive was that when he first woke, Howard insisted on changing the sheets on his bed. As opposed to the usual woody musk that accompanied his, it smelt of vanilla as well. It was fresh and almost homely.

The view, however, was nowhere near as entertaining or interesting. His room was usually cluttered with papers and things to be sorted, but Howard had taken care of them all in the time he was asleep. Instead, the main things he could focus on in the dark was the aloe plant in the corner of the room, his wardrobe, desk, and the dresser. It would be six if you included the photo frame and clock.

There was only, however, a small amount of time that could be spent playing connect the dots with the spots of dirt on the ceiling.

John was bored.

Bored John was not a good John.

“John?” As if on cue, Howard’s voice rang through John’s cramped apartment. “You up?"

John took a big sniff and let out a croak in response, slamming his head back against his pillow, hoping that it would make a loud enough sound that he didn’t have to speak. He heard sock-muffled footfalls slowly getting louder before they stopped at the door and Howard peeked around it. 

His face quickly melted into a soft smile, eyes crinkling at the edges as he pushed the door open slowly, his hands filled with goods. Howard moved over to the bed, no sign of disgust on his face. That meant that John looked at least decent.

Howard laid down a tray of things on John’s lap. Most of the things on the tray were perfectly reasonable, such as the orange juice. Some were a little stranger, like the single cut rose and the polaroid photo of John sleeping. How Howard had managed to find an opportunity to pay John back for the photo he took of him, John wasn’t sure. However, the center of the tray was what really concerned him.

“I brought you some food, are you up to eating something?” Howard asked soothingly.

No. No, John was not going to eat that bowled substance.

“Soup.” John managed to croak without coughing.

“Yeah, I don’t know how to make it, so I bought some.” Howard commented, suddenly worried about John’s reaction, “It’s just a broth, I hope that’s okay-”

“Not a 'food'.” 

“What? Are you okay John?” Howard was concerned.

“I will not-” John coughed violently, but he relented and continued to speak, “-eat a liquid.”

Howard was dumbfounded, “John, you need to get something in your stomach, so you can beat whatever the fuck this magical sickness is.”

John tried his best to pout, but instead, it looked more like a grimace.

“Please John.” Howard sighed, “Drink the soup, I don’t want you to be sick.”

John’s expression softened as Howard groaned a little into his hands. He looked tired. 

“Sleep.” 

“Will you drink the soup if I do?”

John spluttered a response, but it was too inaudible to really understand. His hair fell in front of his face, and he didn’t have the energy to pull it back so it would stay out of his face.

“Do you want me to tie your hair back?”

John mulled it over for a moment before cracking his eyes open again and nodding, spluttering in the process. He pushed himself up, hands placed on the bed behind him as he used all his strength to sit against the headboard. “Please.” He rasped out, another coughing fit exploding through him.

Howard handed him the glass of orange juice to soothe his raw throat before standing up, moving to lean over John. He took the hair tie that was already waiting on his wrist and used gentle fingers to bunch John’s locks together at the back of his head. Carefully tying it, he put it into a neat little bun so that it wouldn’t tickle the nape of his neck and sat back down again once he was done.

John was still distracted by the feeling of Howard’s fingers through his hair. He didn’t have the energy to flinch or panic over the contact, so instead, he tried to savor the soothing feeling. He did, however, raise his eyebrow at John.

“I’ll sleep if you eat the goddamn soup.”

“Drink,” John responded hoarsely. 

“Fine.”

John gave a pained smile, before moving his shaking, and still very much injured hand to pick up the hot bowl. 

Howard instantly reached over and helped steady his hands. Of course, John was going to refuse to use the goddamn spoon. Howard hoped John knew that his hands couldn’t handle the weight nor the heat, so the assistance was necessary.

“Are you drinking the soup specifically so I sleep?” Howard asked. John gave the slightest of nods. “Alright, after you finish.”

John nodded once more, drinking the broth at a steady pace. Once it had been consumed, they both placed the bowl back on the tray, and John gave Howard a look that he couldn’t deny.

“Fine.” 

Both heard John’s phone buzz, but neither gave it much thought. Howard moved the tray off of John’s lap and then nestled into John’s side. 

The sickness made it so John could appreciate the contact, and how good it felt to feel loved by someone again. John repositioned his chin slightly, onto Howard’s own head. They both drifted off slowly to sleep.

\--

The first time he woke up with his and Howard’s arms entangled was not anything expected. The second time was no different. In his headache-induced waking, John had no recollection of what had happened prior to this event, and his mind was ignorant enough of how sick he was to panic. Somehow, this time, he had rotated onto Howard’s chest, Howard’s arm wrapped around his torso tightly, effectively trapping him to the bed. It wasn’t an unpleasant situation to be in, minus the headache, but he had one question. What had happened?

He wasn’t sure if he had spilled some unknown secret or part of his history, he wasn’t ready to share yet in his sick-drunk haze. Would his untethered mind cause some rift in their blooming relationship, and he was simply not aware of it? John hated being unaware of actions around him, and he worried that his future actions would not correlate with things that he had said previously, thus causing an imbalance or furthermore, cause a problem.

John screwed his eyes shut, instead opting to focus on Howard’s soft breathing against his neck. Obviously, whatever he did had worked out well, or he was going to be in for a very rude awakening whenever Howard came to his senses. He quickly shook that thought away, he needed to focus on remembering what happened, not dwell on what could happen.

As John calmed, he felt the back of his throat start to prickle up, and the sound of his blood beating made his headache only worse. He took a moment to relish in the feeling of Howard’s body against his torso and back. He was surprisingly warm, but soft, and John eased into the feeling a little more. He anchored himself to that feeling, using it as a tether to keep this new sense of calm from drifting away. Any self-hatred or disgust he felt slowly melted away with the beat of Howard’s heart, the sound reverberating in John’s ears.

He knew the sentiment wouldn’t last, but at this moment he hadn’t the energy to think more about it. For once, he felt truly at peace, and he let himself drift away back into unconsciousness.

\--

The third time waking up in Howard’s arms was less jarring. The extra sleep had slightly eased his headache and it was a little easier for him to breathe. The previous sense of panic was no longer present, but the question of what had happened was still partially there. His memory had come back to him, but he wasn’t exactly sure how Howard being curled up on his side led to them directly cuddling. Sunlight was starting to beam through the room, and John realized that they must have been asleep for quite some time, as his last memory was of late-afternoon. 

John slowly shifted so that he could face Howard, some part of him needing the confirmation of his face to fully believe that he was there. He needed to know that Howard was there and not just a cruel trick of his half-awake mind. His face was so close to John’s that it took his breath away, and John had a feeling it always would. The sight brought a smile to his face, and the sickness that John’s mind was slowly being reminded of stopped him from suppressing it.

He wanted to beat himself up about being in this position badly, but John hadn’t the strength to do so right now. He’d have to deal with it another time. The very thought seemed foreign to him at that moment.

He let out a sigh and leaned further into the hug, burying his face into the crook of Howard’s neck. It was lovely, being able to hold his partner like this, away from any anxieties or prying eyes that might seek to cause a rift between the two. Before, John had simply accepted that he would never be able to be loved like this, but now he was in the arms of the man he loved, and he couldn’t be happier.

He wrapped his arms around Howard and pulled him close, ignoring the subconscious trembling of his body. John breathed in Howard’s scent and allowed himself to slowly become more familiar with it. It was fresh, almost like vanilla.

Howard shifted beneath him and let out a soft chuckle. “Morning, love,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to John’s forehead.

John tilted his head up to meet Howard’s eyes, “Morning.” 

The look on Howard’s face was the softest he had ever seen, it was a look of pure adoration that made his heart skip a beat, and reminded his throat that he was still, infact, sick.

He tried to clear his throat, “Not that I have an objection with this per se, but what happened?”

Howard’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “You were pretty out of it, weren’t you?” 

John coughed in response.

“And you still are, by the looks of things. God John, you’re shaking!” Howard was suddenly much more awake due to this, and John realized cold sweat was starting to form on his forehead. 

“I- I am fine, Howie.” John smiled, almost sheepishly.

“You’re smiling with your teeth too John, holy shit. We need to check your temperature.”

“Howie, please. I am fine, just stay with me a little while.” John didn’t mean to make it sound like an order, but his question did veer that way.

As he said that, the memories of the previous day came back faster. Not everything was entirely clear, but how vulnerable he was with Howard, and it frightened him. He remembered opening up the smallest fraction and he wanted nothing more than to close back up again. Howard however, already had a foot in the door, so there was no hope there.

“I am sorry, Howard. I should not have opened up to you, it must have made you uncomf-” John’s hoarse apology was cut off by a splutter of coughs, contained mostly in his chest. 

He shushed him, as Howard raised his hand to meet John’s face. 

“It’s alright John. I’m your boyfriend, I want to be here for you. I know I probably don’t understand much of what’s on your mind, but I want to try. For you.”

John groaned back into Howard’s chest again. He left a lull in the conversation for a small while, not really sure what to say in return to Howard’s comment.

Howard ran his fingers through John’s hair again, in an attempt to soothe him. It worked, and as the bun that had previously been in his hair fell apart, John knew that he wanted this. He had never been comfortable with physical contact, and he knew it would take a lot of time to get over, but with Howard, he wanted to move past it. It was selfish of him, to want something, but he wanted to be the best he could possibly be for Howard.

He reached up and cupped Howard’s face.

“I think I am falling in love with you, Howard.”

He knew it might be too soon, but John was an honest man. He wanted to tell Howard how much he meant to him, even if they had only been dating for a small amount of time.

Howard giggled a little. “John, you’re a sap.”

“I am sure that is something you enjoy, Mr. President.”

Howard pouted, but couldn’t suppress his smile.

It was Howard who captured John’s lips this time, the direct opposite of the first time they did. It was slow and tentative and full of a longing that had been building up. He pulled back, still unsure of what he could do, but John just brought him back to his lips and kissed him as if he was trying to pour every emotion running through his mind into it. Howard smiled against his lips. At this moment they felt at home, completely content. John’s failure to stay stoic felt like nothing now, long forgotten in the events since the night before. They couldn't be bothered to care anymore, they had each other now, and that’s all that mattered at that moment.

This time when John pulled away, Howard didn’t follow. He lay there, staring at him with the purest look of content, and John knew his face mirrored it. He looked down, fearing his voice would betray him if he met Howard’s eyes again.

“I never thought I would be able to do that.” Howard smiled.

“I am also glad I was able to,” John said, before coughing violently.

“If I get whatever bug you have John, I’m taking that back.” Howard shook his head slightly.

\--

The day had started to drag in John’s mind. Sure, he had slept through the majority of it, and Howard had tried his best to keep John comfortable, but it was getting to the point where he could not handle being idle anymore. Sure, he had been granted a 3 week leave, then joining with Thanksgiving break, which was the first time for as long as John remembered where he had taken more than a day’s break, but he still needed to work. He felt like he had aged ten years in the span of two days, just waiting.

Restless. John was restless.

The least he could do was get changed into something more comfortable.

Once this decision had been made, the actual doing of the activity started to loom. John could feel the marrow of his bones sag with sickness, and his left hand was still bandaged. He hated being sick.

So, one by one, he hoisted his legs off the bed. It hurt slightly, but John knew that they would ache even more if he didn’t use them in the next couple of hours. He didn’t want to lose alertness again. Next was his torso, and finally, John got a hold of the edge of the bed with his hands and pushed himself upwards.

He was wobbly on his feet, and he could tell his eyes were starting to flutter shut, but that didn’t matter. John had a job to do.

Slowly lunging over to his closet, John started to fiddle with the finicky buttons of the shirt he was wearing. It was starting to get hot anyway, so he figured that he would be fine without putting another one on. He unbuttoned the tight jeans and browsed around for a pair of boxers. John almost slipped on the floor and saw that he was still wearing socks. He would probably need to get rid of those.

John opted not to take off the shirt, letting it hang loosely over his shoulders, as he soon realized the fast loss of energy he was experiencing.

A caffeine pill would help with that, but by the time John had gotten over to his nightstand, Howard had noticed the calamitous noise he had been producing. 

“No, no, no, no, no what the fuck are you doing?” Quickly Howard rushed over to John, who had been in the middle of opening the container before being found.

John’s legs quickly started to give out, but luckily Howard was there to catch him, steadying John’s arms with his hands.

“Hey,” John whispered, as Howard guided him back to the bed. John stumbled along distractedly, and let out a soft sigh when he re-connected with the bed.

“I am alright Howard.” John murmured in protest, his still husky voice contrasting with his statement.

“No, you’re not,” Howard said in return, pushing the back of his hand lightly to John’s forehead, watching hesitantly as John recoiled from his hand.

“Cold…” John trailed off.

“See, that’s exactly why you’re not fine John. You should stay in bed.” 

“I am afraid I cannot do that.”

“I’ll phrase it differently,” Howard stated matter-of-factly, “You will stay in bed.”

John would respond with disagreement, but his head felt faint, so he resorted to biting his lip.

Howard shook his head slightly.

“Alright, off.” He motioned to the nearly discarded shirt. 

John silently obeyed, and tried to help Howard lift the covers up, in the process, their hands connected again, and the shivers started to return to John. 

“It’s just me dear.” A soft voice comes from somewhere, and John could start to feel his grip on reality fade. Howard. That’s whose voice it was.

“Come on.” 

John pushed himself back into bed properly, sinking into the pillows.

“Can I get you something? Tea?” Howard began to tuck him in.

“No, I will be alright.”

“How about a hug?”

John tried to fight the urge to say no, but his body needed this. Ever since his first piece of contact with Howard, he had craved more and more of the man. John wanted to be his, even if it meant getting emotional.

“Please,” John whispered, his voice starting to wobble.

\--

Once they were close enough, John clung to Howard tighter than ever before. Howard immediately noticed but didn’t comment on it straight away. Instead, he let John sink into his chest, his hands tightly gripping to the fabric of Howard’s shirt. It was like Howard was a portable heater to John.

Once John’s breathing had settled, Howard began to play with John’s hair again, having noticed the calming effects of the criss-cross movement of his hands previously.

What Howard was not expecting how close John seemed to be to crying.

“John? Honey? Is everything okay?” 

“Everything is fine. Why do you ask?” John moved his head up slightly to bury it into the crook of Howard’s neck, muffling his voice in the process.

"Love, you’re shaking. You hate touching me, but all you’ve wanted today is comfort. Not that I’m complaining, I love being able to hold you, but it feels like you’re doing it because something is really wrong...” Howard did not like having to address things in the middle of them happening, especially when one person was hurt with him comforting them, but he was too worried about John. It was stealing a moment away from them both, but he wanted John to be okay.

“I do not care about any of that. Just hold me please.” His voice was soft and almost pleading, but also hoarse and wavering, Howard couldn’t deny the other man, but he was still worried. Howard took John’s hands and started to rub circles into them softly, hoping to ease his boyfriend more. Whatever the problem was, John needed this.

Howard moved a little, and John repositioned to rest his head over the other man’s heart, their legs tangling together. Howard could feel the hand he was rubbing squeeze back tightly, although with a slight tremble. Howard knew that John was not one to be shaken easily, despite the fact that they had been dating for a short amount of time. Maybe it was the sickness, but his gut was telling him otherwise. John told him to trust his gut, so he did.

“John, please talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” He kept his voice soft, not wanting to seem pushy. John’s grip on his hand tightened for a second, and let out a sigh.

“I should not be doing this. It is not okay.” John muttered, almost silently. 

“John what-?” Howard was extremely confused, but before Howard could voice that confusion, John cut him off.

“Howard please, promise me.” His voice was desperate and Howard could hear the beginnings of tears in his voice. Howard could feel his heartbeat increase and started to regret John being positioned directly over his heart. Howard wanted desperately to reassure John, but he had no clue what the man was talking about.

“I don’t know what to promise.” John started to softly draw patterns onto Howard’s chest, presumably to calm himself down. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to do much to help calm the other man. John pushed forward off Howard, into a sitting position.

“This was a mistake. Forget about it, just go home.” He pushed his face into his hands, trying to minimize the amount of space his body was taking; contracting into a ball.

“Hey. John, talk to me. I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” Howard pulled John back lightly, mirroring John’s actions on his chest, but instead on the man's back. “Come on, it’s you and I, right? Don’t shut me out.” 

John cleared his throat and turned around to face Howard. Tears were starting to well up in his eyes.

“I do not want to lose you. I do not want to let you in because I have never cared about a person so much in my life. No one has ever touched me, let alone like you do. What if something like Wiggly were to find out? He would torture you, kill everyone you ever loved. Because of me.” Howard couldn’t stop the gasp that came out of his mouth as John talked. “I could protect you from that, but I can’t just stand by and watch the men and women that we feel responsible for being killed.” 

Howard was horrified to hear what he was hearing. Was this John’s constant thought process? This paranoia was eating John up from the inside potentially for his entire life, and he had never told anyone from the sounds of it. Sure, it made some kind of demented and twisted kind of sense, John had mentioned before that he was certain that everyone he ever loved would die, but he didn’t realize that this belief extended to pre-destined guilt. The thought of them John being massacred in front of his eyes momentarily, and Howard noticed that John hadn’t comprehended that he was one of the people that would die in his hypothetical scenario.

“You’re right. I… I can’t just stand by and watch that happen. I can’t watch you die. I won’t run away. It is my job to do everything I can to keep everyone safe.” Howard struggled to hide the fear in his voice, but he knew this needed to be said. John could probably tell anyway.

“I love you too John, I know it’s so early to say it, but it feels right.”

John crinkled his eyebrows, trying his best to stay stoic or at least smile, but it seemed to trigger something inside of him. His eyes were red and you could see the fluid coming from his tear ducts. He scrunched up his face and tackle-hugged Howard.

“I love you too.”

“I know.” Howard smiles. 

“It is-.” John’s voice was a mess, and his crying didn’t help, but Howard followed the tightness of John’s hug, which seemed to soothe him.

‘It is hard for me to trust someone when they touch me. I am not used to it.” He sniffled, “But I will try my best for you.”

“I still don’t understand why, but these things take time John. Opening up to someone is difficult, I should know. I’m here and always will be here for you, okay?” 

John’s voice choked out before he could say anything more, and so they lay together in silence. It was nearing the evening now, and the tiredness of the surprisingly busy day started to seep into their pores. 

“I do not want to ever lose you. Not ever.” John’s voice lacked the emotion it did before, instead, he just sounded tired. Howard felt his own emotions fade, just becoming content with comforting John.

“We probably need some dinner,” Howard said, but not taking any attempt to move from where he was. He wanted this moment to last forever. Although he probably knew that Howard was not going to move any time soon, John surged up, and threw his arms around Howard’s neck and gave him a kiss. Howard reciprocated instantly.

When the kiss eventually broke, as all kisses do, John and Howard rested their foreheads together, and John moved his hands to cup Howard’s.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t have much experience, you’re pretty good at this affection thing.” Both Howard and John chuckled at that.

“Stay for the night. Please.” John rubbed his finger across Howard’s cheekbone and smiled sleepily. “Have a better time than on that sofa.”

“Okay,” Howard spoke quietly, taking in every nook and cranny of John’s visage. “But you need something in your system, and my stomach is starving. Will you be fine without me for half an hour, where I go and get something?”

John nodded weakly, and Howard shifted out of bed. John looked like he was about to fall asleep anyway, so Howard and kissed his hand.

“I’ll be back soon, love.”

“You should come with me for my family’s Thanksgiving,” John mumbled sleepily, 

“... I would love that, dear.” Howard smiled fondly, pressing another kiss to John’s cheek before he fell asleep.

\--

After John fell asleep, Howard quickly set out to make dinner. He had bought all the ingredients to make the best cheese toasty ever. He figured that if John was feeling up to eating something, it might as well be one of the best guilty pleasure foods.

However, before he could start, the doorbell rang.

Confused, but not willing to wake John, Howard cautiously opened the door to reveal the trench-coat clad boy from the photo Henry had shown him before John got sick. The one that suspiciously looked like John.

“Yo, who the fuck are you?” The teenager said in a hurried tone, fiddling with his phone.

“I- uhm. I think I need to get John-”

“Think you can answer the question though? I’m in a hurry.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary-”

“Oh, I think it is. I’ll just take a photo of you just in case you’ve robbed my uncle or something.”

Before Howard could respond, the strange teenager pulled up his phone and took a picture of him.

_Click._

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to comment if you want to see something included in this story, or want to share your thoughts!
> 
> also if you liked please give kudos, thx :)


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